【【乔伯伯】《乔伯伯：5500词汇系统课》aau】
这个课程我学了，感觉非常不错，受益匪浅，需要的宝子
+/♥：1027497911 或者 ktth78 抱走哦~
+/♥：1027497911 或者 ktth78 抱走哦~
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natives, each holding it with a wad of moss in his hand to protect it from the touch of steel, against which they had a taboo. Sadok’s sumpitan, with its spear blade lashed to its muzzle like a spear, they could understand, and his parang and Nicky’s were in the hands of their captors. They evidently respected these as real weapons of war, as they also did Baderoon’s bows and[96] arrows and both the shields, for these were being carried along as trophies.
By nightfall the trail pitched suddenly downward toward the lagoon, and the warriors raised their voices in an exulting chant. It was answered by the deep boom of war drums, and presently they came down to a native village on the shore of the lagoon. The mangroves had been cleared away here, and on the beach were some twenty long black canoes, hauled up, their high carved prows looming darkly against the glassy surface of the waters, greenish orange in the dying hues of twilight.
The huts of the village were of bamboo, arched up from ground to ground over a stout ridge pole, and thatched with palm attap. An excited crowd of native men gathered around their party, while the warriors went on singing and dancing, telling in vigorous pantomime the story of their capture. There seemed to be no central chief, but some of the older and more powerful warriors at length came to some sort of agreement, and they were all thrust into an empty hut, the men who had captured their weapons claiming the duty of being guards.
The explorers sat watchful on the clean[97] sand floor of the hut, with their guards standing in the doorway. A great fire was started out in front, and they could see even the women and children, now, venturing from the huts. Log after log was piled on the fire, and then pairs of natives passed the door, carrying between them huge, rounded stones. One after another these were laid on the fire, and gradually they became red hot underneath, while the upper surfaces were smooth and sooty in the licking flames.
“Prenty bad!” whispered Baderoon in the curator’s ear. “Fire dance! Make you-fellah hopp’m on rock till he cook you’ foots. Den dey kai-kai dat foots. Leg, he stop, ’til next time. All kai-kai some day.”
It was time to act! The curator shifted his trick ring with his thumb and opened the catch when it came inside his palm. His fingers closed around his right wrist and sought the binding of twisted pandanus leaf. A steady scratch-scratching of the little blade in the ring on the leaf fiber went on, while their guards looked out the door, watching the preparations.
VI THE CURATOR’S AIR PISTOL
THE flickering red lights from the dying flames of the fire lit up the walls of the hut as the curator sat, free, with his hands still behind him, considering what to do next. The fiery glow of embers under the hot stones urged him to speedy action, for already the tom-toms of trumpet-shaped Papuan war drums and the whang of stringed instruments had struck up. The natives were yelling for the first prisoner to be brought out. He did not propose that their party should go on stumps for the rest of their lives.
He reached carefully for the hunting knife in his belt, and, leaning up against Baderoon, his arm slipped behind him and cut his thongs. Then the knife was passed on, and Baderoon freed Sadok. The three silently arose and crept toward the guards leaning out the door. Fingers moved stealthily for their necks, while the boys watched them tensely. With a sudden pounce, both guards[99] were seized and dragged within the hut without a sound. Sadok was strong as a gorilla, and his man soon ceased to struggle. The curator and Baderoon had more trouble with theirs, for the black had only one good arm, but the guard was finally subdued, gagged, and tied after a silent tussle in which all three joined. Then the boys were freed, and Sadok jumped for his sumpitan, parang, and kriss, which leaned up against the walls of the hut.
“This way—quick now!” hissed the curator, pointing to the blank rear wall of the hut. Sadok ripped a door in it with his kriss, while the curator drew his pistol, inserted a small metal cylinder in its breech, and shoved down hard with the muzzle of the weapon on an abandoned shield of the guards. A crinkly noise like a spring came from within it, and he smiled grimly and replaced the pistol in its holster. Then they all crept out through the back wall into the dark jungle, Baderoon helping himself liberally to weapons as he left.
Dwight, tingling with excitement, automatic in hand, crawled along on all-fours behind the curator, who followed Sadok, and so they worked steadily toward the beach[100] over the thick, soft duff. At length the last of the line of canoes, close to the boundary of mangroves, rose up ahead, and, one by one, they crawled around both sides of it, keeping below the gunwale out of sight. The lurid glow of the fire was behind them, and, silhouetted against it were circles of mop-haired savages, singing in unison with the beat of the drums, the warriors dancing around the fire.
Quietly they rose and lifted the bow of the long boat. Her stern was afloat and she gave easily, but it took their combined strength to shove her out. At last she floated, and they all got in, Sadok giving her a last artful shove that sent her silently around the end of the mangroves and out of sight. They groped for paddles, dipped them noiselessly, and stole along, close to shore, not even a ripple coming from her prow. The noise behind them grew gradually more indistinct, until the rhythmical dub-dub of the drums alone reached them.
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